


Forging Merit

by Thai_Tea_Addict



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thai_Tea_Addict/pseuds/Thai_Tea_Addict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beauty has always been subjective. Miura Haru will learn this the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forging Merit

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N** : ...I'm actually a little bit surprised I wrote this. Girls usually aren't my thing. (stares at fic in wonder)
> 
> **Disclaimer** : I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
> 
> **Warnings** : Mentions of violence, gory results of violence
> 
> **Pairings** : No main pairing, though there's a little 27K. (Apparently my BL-fangirl self has a limit on the het pairings I can write...)

She could never quite recall, in full detail, what had happened that day. What she could remember were the small, inconsequential details that lead up to that moment: the clouds had choked out the sun, leaving Namimori shrouded in dim light that somehow seemed to add to the peace Tsuna-san had always loved. That her backpack was heavy with the weight of a half-finished art project due the next day. That she had possibly said something funny, which was the reason Kyoko was giggling.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she could see something moving towards them. The speed and angle were all wrong for a harried by-stander; there was purpose in those quick steps that her mind had instantly recognized. Instinct told her to run, her mind told her to scream, but it was her heart that Miura Haru listened to.

And it told her to freeze, because Kyoko was right behind her.

Some part of her must have thought it would be a knife - perhaps that would have been better. It only took one jab before instinct forced her body to do something in a fight-or-flight response. It wasn't, though, and instead she was treated to something cold splashing across her face and shoulder. Surprise kept her still and wide-eyed, mind racing in confusion - had he just thrown water at her? - before the liquid that sloshed over half her face began to burn like fire across her skin.

She screamed then. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Kyoko may have been screaming too, but it sounded terrified instead of painful - not that that made it any better. Haru wasn't sure about that, anyway, because the acid was _eating through her skin_ and she could _taste her own blood in her throat._

She gratefully fell unconscious. That she might have died never occurred to her in that moment.

 

_

 

She woke up in a hospital room. It looked like one in any case, from the one eye she could see out of. Her body felt heavy - medication, undoubtedly - making her sluggish as she slowly turned her head to regard the rest of the room. The only things visible to her were the machines - only half of which were hooked up to her, beeping at intervals - a TV that hung from the corner, an empty chair, and an equally empty sidetable. The room was small but obviously only meant for one resident. The door was closed.

She turned her gaze back up to the ceiling. Buried somewhere underneath all the anesthesia lurked pain - terrible, terrible pain that her mind seemed delighted to recall. She tried to feel out her body, to test what the damage was; the entire upper-left side of her torso, including her arm, refused to respond. Both legs felt fine, just like her right arm. Her fingers twitched, butting into the handle of the call button. She ignored it in favor of reaching up to see what was obscuring the vision in her left eye.

The unmistakable feel of a bandage greeted her clumsy fingers. She followed it down - starting from the top of her head, sealing off half of her nose and mouth, down past the cheek all the way to the chin. The entire left side of her head.

She remembered it was acid.

Haru let her fingers fall back to the bed. She wanted to cry but the tears leaked awkwardly down the right side of her face and they set the left side aflame with pain. Her throat was too sore and dry to scream. Her entire body felt cold.

She belatedly realized there wasn't a window in the room. She fell asleep anyway.

 

_

 

"I'm sorry, Haru-chan," Tsuna apologized again. He was crying, of course, because Tsuna was like that; he cried for others, he screamed for others, he bled and fought and - in a future never to be repeated - he died for others. "I'm sorry!"

Haru would have smiled but knew that it would only pull awkwardly at her bandages, making it look even more grotesque. She'd lost count of the number of times the boy had apologized. He'd apologized the moment he'd stepped in, repeating it over and over. She'd forgiven him each time, verbally or not, and would have hugged him had her left shoulder not been quite so sensitive to touch.

Her face was gone. Or at least half her face; the acid had eaten most of the left side of her visage, sparing only her ear. The skin would grow back eventually but it would grow back wrong; she'd be scarred forever. Her left shoulder seemed to be missing several layers of skin as well, making touching unbearable. She'd have screamed when they stuck a needle in her arm had half her mouth not been covered by gauze. The doctor - not Shamal, but Haru didn't want to think too deeply as to why - had said her left eye had almost fallen out but they'd managed to keep it in by installing something like a prosthetic cheekbone. She wasn't quite sure but she knew that from the doctor's words and the way he avoided looking her in the face that it wouldn't be aesthetically-pleasing.

She knew what all these injuries meant: she'd recover, but she'd recover _ugly._

_You're alive,_ her mind argued. _You're alive and that's what matters._

_Better dead than disfigured,_ something dark whispered back. _No one wants an ugly girl. Your own doctor wouldn't look you in the face. Shamal isn't even here - he doesn't want to touch something so ugly._

Tsuna apologized again. Looking her straight in the eye.

"Is Kyoko-chan okay?" Haru finally asked, voice scratchy.

 

_

 

She'd never gone to high school. Those last few months in junior high had been unbearable - people avoided looking her in the face, giving her a wide berth as she walked down the hall. Some of the girls in her class had tried; they'd talk with her and eat lunch with her, but nothing could quite stop their eyes from flicking over the monstrosity that had become half her face. Haru could not hide behind her hair - it wasn't nearly long enough and it would only irritate her protruding eye - and the wounds were still a bit too fresh for something like a mask. Eventually she got tired of the stares and the whispers, graduating from school and never giving high school a second glance.

It wasn't all bad. Tsuna and the others were there; a constant presence at her side when she wasn't at home or at school. She'd practically been assigned an escort no matter where she went or came from: Reborn-chan would show up after her school ended until they conveniently met up with Tsuna and the others; Yamamoto had a tendency of showing up whenever she went grocery shopping; Gokudera would wait for her, scowling ferociously, when she left school late; Ryohei followed Kyoko around, and Kyoko would always spend her weekends with Haru.

They all looked her straight in the eye, too. Tsuna continued apologizing for a few more days until Reborn-chan kicked him in the head. Gokudera still treated her the same - all glowers and acidic words that had nothing to do with her new scars and everything to do with her integrity. Yamamoto and Ryohei had both looked politely saddened by her new wounds but didn't seem to realize that it made her ugly - they always were a bit dense, Haru knew. Bianchi had said nothing, only given her a gentle hug.

She could readily admit she'd been terrified of how the kids would react. Reborn-chan's behavior had changed very little; he had been the one to inform her that the assault had been the attempt of a rival mafia family to demoralize the Vongola. (Naturally, he also added on coldly that the rival family had been dealt with _appropriately_ \- which explained Hibari's absence for the past week.) I-Pin had looked close to tears when she'd first seen her, but only reached one small hand to gently touch the left side of her face.

"It hurt?" the small girl asked.

Haru smiled; only half her lips rose up in a mockery of what once had been, the other side already showing teeth due to missing most of her upper lip. I-Pin didn't so much as twitch, still all sad eyes.

"Not at all," Haru lied. I-Pin cried anyway.

Lambo had taken one look at her, briefly freezing- before loudly demanding that she play a game with him. I-Pin took on the responsibility of beating the cow-like boy down before Reborn could, and the two children took off screaming.

Nothing, however, could compare to when Kyoko had gently held onto her wrists, leaning her head into Haru's good shoulder as she thanked her with only a minimal amount of tears.

Maybe not quite worth it - but good enough all the same.

 

_

 

The world wasn't kind to those with little education, and even less kind to those who society felt should be ashamed of their appearance. The awkward looks continued (but only from strangers), the whispers never stopped (as if she had enough time to deal with every gossip-monger in existence), and on some days there'd a be a jerk or two around to start something just because she'd existed nearby.

The Vongola, however, did not take well to such things. A junior high education may not mean much to the rest of the world but in the crime world the only thing that mattered was what you learned from experience, not from a textbook. For every awkward look there'd be an answering dark glare, every whisper heard made silent through sheer force, and every sneering jerk reduced to something as misshapen as she was.

Haru never did any of it herself, of course. As soon as Tsuna had ascended and filled the role of Vongola Decimo, he'd been flown off to Italy for further education, taking along most of his Guardians with him. The only ones left behind had been Yamamoto and Hibari, the former promising to join them once he finished high school. The latter was the Cloud and would go nowhere under anyone's order. Kyoko had stayed behind as well, declining a scholarship to one of Italy's most prestigious schools, citing something about pursuing a law course in Japan's educational system.

Haru had agreed to go, declining schooling but accepting the CEDEF's apprenticeship. They had no need for beauty - all they looked for was strength and intelligence.

 

_

 

"Are you sure you don't want to wear the dress?" Kyoko asked for what had to be the umpteenth time. Said apparel hung from the closet door; a dress of a pink so pale it reminded Haru of the colors of her scars when they'd been fresh wounds. Not that she'd ever tell Kyoko that.

"I'm sure," Haru answered warmly. "I'm on the job, anyway, Kyoko-chan; someone has to make sure this wedding doesn't turn into a fiasco."

She paused, the right side of her lips twitching up in the barest traces of a smile. "Well, any more of a fiasco than it's already doomed to be."

"Haru-chan!" Kyoko whined, pouting at her. The two could only hold the act for a few more seconds before they both started giggling. Chrome entered the suite that had been designated to the bride, already dressed in her Maid of Honor clothes and blushing lightly.

"Ah, Chrome-chan! You really do look cute in that!" Kyoko squealed.

"Really?" Chrome asked, having never quite grown out of her painful shyness but more confident in the company of her two closest friends. She'd become an adept illusionist, in her own right, being Mukuro's first student and still much-beloved person. (No one really knew what the relationship between Mukuro and his former host was, but as long as the Family was not adversely affected, they left well enough alone.)

Haru was only thankful that the girl had never offered to cast an attractive illusion over her scars. Years ago, she had not been sure she'd be able to say no to such an offer; presently, she knew she'd only be offended.

"Come on, Kyoko-chan," Haru said, standing up and smoothing down her clothes. She was dressed in a black suit, devoid of any decoration. The only thing she wore that was uniquely her's and not the dress uniform of a CEDEF operative was the black conforming mask covering half of her face; it left enough space to allow her protruding eye to see and cupped forward enough to mold to her mouth. It was made of a hard, plastic material that Giannini assured her could stop bullets. Her brown hair was now kept short enough to not get in her way but long enough to hide the straps to her mask.

"Boss will probably start worrying that you left him at the altar," Chrome added, giggling.

Haru affected something remniscent of a grin. "He's probably standing up there already crying. Tsuna-san is such a softie."

"Oh, don't tease my soon-to-be husband!" Kyoko mock-chided. "It's bad enough Oniisan scared poor Tsuna-kun half to death last week!"

Haru couldn't suppress a chortle. "That was the best. Who knew Tsuna-san could still scream that high?"

_"Haru-chan!"_ Kyoko whined.

 

_

 

Time changed people. Haru was no exception; her scars had taught her life wasn't fair. CEDEF taught her to _get the fuck over herself_ or she could just be an ugly person in a coffin rather than a decent human being walking around. Lal Mirch had not been a kind teacher - compassionate when she needed to be, but she did not become candidate Arcobaleno for her ability to sympathize. Three years under apprenticeship and only halfway capable, Tsuna's father had placed Haru in a new division of CEDEF: _"Santurio"_ , the division in charge of supporting those who have been victimized by the mafia. Recently established to follow the new Vongola Tenth's policy of being less crime-syndicate and more just-vigilante, like the first generation.

The most common cases were the women who'd been made into sex slaves. Young, pretty little things with dead eyes and hardened hearts. The beauty Haru had always wanted back became something else as she worked in this division; that silly little ideal meant nothing in the face of what those girls had been forced to endure. What use was a pretty face when that same face got you tortured day after day? What did it mean when how attractive you were was the only thing keeping you alive, unlike the rest of your family - who had been brutally murdered in front of you? What did it mean to be 'cute' when _you were only six years old and too young to understand just what was happening to you?_

Being pretty was nice. Being useful - strong enough to protect those you care about, stubborn enough to persevere despite what was thrown at you, gallant enough to stick with your morals even when no one else did - that was what Miura Haru wanted to be.

 

_

 

When Haru had time for it - when she wasn't executing CEDEF orders, or helping abuse victims, or mediating spats between the hormonal-teenage-romantic-drama that was I-Pin and Lambo, or buying out cake shops to satiate both her and Kyoko - she could spare a moment to want someone who would love her.

Haru knew she was physically hideous. She knew that it was a near-impossibilty to find someone who could look at her face - _all_ of her face, not just the part that remained unscarred - and think her attractive enough to kiss her half-gone lips, make love to her and stare down at the missing portions of her face.

The moments would be swift and fleeting, something more like a teenage daydream rather than an adult's fixation. She did not have enough time and energy to spare for such frivolous thoughts. Besides, when she'd wake up after another Vongola-style birthday party - usually on the floor with the majority of the Family, nursing a _fucking painful_ hangover, confetti and assorted food trying to commit symbiosis with her hair, and half her face covered in marker art (because Lambo, no matter how mature he got, reverted back to the mindset of a five-year-old the minute alcohol touched his blood) - she realized these passed-out idiots _did_ love her, in their own psychotic, slightly-homicidal way.

It never seemed quite so lonely after that.

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N** : 
> 
> I was thinking of adding a little romance in for her (like with Gokudera or Yamamoto), but then I was like _never mind_ \- the whole point of the fic would be ruined if Haru got a sappy ending. Left it hanging so you can imagine up a happy ending full of her dream-husband and wonderful children if you want. Was also tempted to add in a suicide attempt - permanently-disfigured victims (like burn victims) have a higher chance of committing suicide - but decided against it because I can't see Haru doing it. (She's not like Yamamoto; all smiles until you take what he loves and then _he decides he doesn't want to live anymore_.)
> 
> Drop a review, if you would be so kind. Critiques are very appreciated. I'm not used to writing with girls as my protagonist, so anything you can note will be very helpful!


End file.
